Game Over
by The QAS
Summary: A triple drabble. Mike Teavee's thoughts as he lays in the taffy stretcher. More details inside.


**Disclaimer: This series of shorts is entirely based off of the _Charlie and the Chocolate Factory _novel and movies. I do not own the story or the characters. I just enjoy torturing them.**

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><p><strong>Note: This story is made up of three drabble-like rants. They are Mike Teavee's thoughts as he lays in the taffy stretcher. Each one is from a different version of the story. It begins with the book, then the original movie, and then the remake. His personality differs based off of the time period, although its most drastic change is in the last part. <strong>

Book (1964):

It wasn't supposed to be like this, thought Mike angrily. He had just wanted to have a little fun. Was that a crime?

And now his parents were going to throw away his TV! Oh, the horror! Mike gritted his teeth in anger. He wanted to cry, but he wouldn't allow it. No. He was a man, and men did not cry. Men were supposed to be strong. Only girls cried. Anybody who had seen any decent movie in his life knew that. It was why the dude always rescued the dame. Personally, Mike didn't care much for those mushy genres; he never really "got" romance; still, he did enjoy some parts. There was almost always some epic scene involving a car chase or a sword fight. It was what life was all about—a good action scene (especially with shooting)!

But he had to focus on more important things now: his TV, oh, his precious TV! His old man said he was going to throw it out the window once they got home. Mike wouldn't believe it. He didn't want to believe it! If it were true, he had half a mind to follow his TV and jump out the window as well.

He hated his father. He hated him for even _considering_ such a terrible thing. It was a crime against humanity, that's what it was! He was his father; he was supposed to be on **his **side! Mike decided that he hated his mother too. She should've stood up for him! But most of all, he hated Wonka. He was the real mastermind behind this! It wasn't fair! It wasn't fair! It wasn't fair! If his guns were real, he would shoot them all, just like they did in the movies. He would shoot them in the face, the stomach, and the chest. BANG! BANG! BANG! He would do it until they were dead and lying in a pool of their own blood. Mike Teavee wanted revenge._ Somebody_ had to pay—and **he **certainly wasn't going to!

What were the other kids going to say when he got back? Mike had been bragging about how he was going to win the mysterious prize at the end of the tour. Now what was he going to do? He couldn't return home empty-handed, it would be the most humiliating thing that ever happened to him!

_Maybe I can run away,_ he thought hopefully. He would find a new home. It'd have to be somewhere far away where nobody would recognize him. Yes, that's what he would do! He would find a new family, with parents who cared about his happiness. Parents who would buy him real guns and let him watch TV to his heart's content.

Then the stretching started, causing poor Mike's body to go into shock. He couldn't ever remember being in so much pain in his life. It was the worst pain he had ever felt in his nine years. Mike could not even begin to describe the mind-numbing torture!

Mike's lower lip trembled. He clenched his teeth and bit his tongue until it bled. He hated this! He wanted it to be over!

Finally, no longer able to contain his fear and utter agony, Mike began bawling hysterically.

Realizing that he was now back to his normal height, Mike ceased the chance, calling out, "Stop it!" His voice quivered slightly from crying. "Y-you can s-st-stop it now!" His pleas, if heard at all, were completely ignored by the Oompa Loompas, and the stretching continued.

The young boy watched in horror as his body mutilated, twisting unnaturally as it stretched past his normal four feet to five feet. Six feet. Seven feet . . .

Mike let out a final howl of pain; a howl that could be heard throughout the entire factory (although went unnoticed in the sound-proof glass elevator).

Mike welcomed the darkness like an old friend as he slipped into unconsciousness.

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><p>Movie (1971):<p>

Why? Why was he being punished? He was a good boy! That's what his mother always told him. So why was he strapped to this freaky machine? Why? What had he done wrong? It made no sense.

Mike felt his eyes water. He had been good pretty much the entire trip. He wasn't rude like Violet, or grabby like Augustus, or obnoxious like Veruca. In fact, other than Charlie, he had been the best behaved of all the children. Heck, he had missed an entire days' worth of television and hardly complained at all!

He was also the youngest of all the kids on the tour. The girls had been mean to him and Augustus just ignored him completely. The only one who had been at all nice to him was Charlie. Mike decided that he liked the British kid. It was cool to have an older boy around. No other kids lived on his street, which is why he spent most of his free time immersed in his television set. Still, having a real person to talk to wasn't all that bad. Finally, he had found someone who hadn't heard all of his TV stories- - and more importantly, someone who would listen to them.

He also sort of felt bad for Charlie. What kind of kid in today's society didn't have a television at home? Mike couldn't even fathom such a horror. He himself could hardly last a couple of hours without his beloved television set, let alone his whole life! He didn't understand how the kid could be so happy all the time.

His pity for Charlie soon shifted back to himself the moment the stretching began. Instantly he felt pain. Every bone in his body was on fire, begging for release. It was like that special on TV the other night—the one Mom didn't want him to watch. Mike recalled a man being tied to two horses and the horses ran in opposite directions, tearing him apart. He remembered watching the show in utter fascination and glee. He wondered if this was what it felt like. It had never occurred to him how painful the entire process must have been.

As the pain increased, Mike found himself unable to think of anything but it. The agony was incredible, far beyond anything he had ever experienced. He wanted it to stop!

"Mom!" he cried. "Mom, it hurts! Tell 'em to stop! Tell them I'll shoot their faces off if they don't!" he was only vaguely aware of the fact that he was now sobbing. It hurt so bad! He didn't want to end up like the cowboy who was torn in half- - that kind of stuff was only fun to watch if it was happening to someone else, not to you!

What was the point of all this, anyway? He had just wanted to have some fun. He was a kid, after all, not even ten years old. He was a good boy! He was!

Whimpering pathetically from the torture the machine was causing, Mike began to feel somewhat lightheaded. As his vision began to blur, he let out one final shriek of pain before everything went black.

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><p>Movie (2005):<p>

He was strapped up and chained down to what looked like some sort of medieval torture device. It was as if he was inside of one of his video games. But Mike knew better; this was no game.

The stupid Oompa Loompa's handed him something to bite on. Mike had seen enough movies to know where this was going: it was to drown out his screams. He winced violently. Mike wasn't exactly sure what they were going to do to him, but he knew one thing for sure: it was going to be very, very painful. He gulped.

Things only got worse from there. The second he bit down, Mike retched. It was just as he feared. He knew instantly from the sticky sweet taste. So sweet. _Too_ sweet. It was chocolate! _Disgusting! _Mike spit out the dreaded candy and tried to wipe his mouth, only to realize that his arms were chained to the stretching machine. _Great. Just great._ He gagged and spluttered, wishing for nothing more than to claw at his tongue.

Then the stretching itself began. The machine started slowly at first, causing only mild discomfort. However, this soon increased to a steady burn, then a violent sting. Mike had to will himself not cry out, forcing himself to think of other things.

The chocolate taste still lingered in his mouth. Mike desperately raked his teeth over his tongue in a futile attempt to dull its sweetness. Why could they have given him rubber to bite on like normal people? Wait, scratch that. If this had been normal in any way whatsoever at all, he wouldn't have had this problem to begin with!

Mike looked around him, studying his surroundings. _There is no way this will work, _he thought, smirking in spite of himself; it was always good to be right. Mike had seen many things that day which defied all logic, but this was something altogether different. He hadn't even shrunk, the atoms had just been rearranged. Since atoms were almost entirely made of empty space, it made perfect sense how they could be squeezed together, it just caused him to become more dense. More dense. Oh. Ha ha. Clever, Wonka. Mike wasn't sure if that had been done on purpose or not, but it still stung. Normally, insulting puns didn't bother him, growing up with a surname like Teavee did that to you. Yet, he couldn't help but feel offended by this play on words. Mike Teavee was many things: loud-mouthed, bad-tempered, arrogant, and at times, downright cruel and malicious. One thing he was not, however, was dense. He was on the top of his class, a world champion at virtual chess, a computer hacker, and a brilliant mathematician. He was anything** but** dense. After all, he was the one who had cleverly located a golden ticket using nothing but his extreme ingenuity and a laptop computer. If anyone deserved that grand prize, it was him. He felt angry, embarrassed, and frightened. But most of all he felt cheated. Wonka had cheated him out of his end of the deal. Mike couldn't stand it when somebody got the better of him.

Although in retrospect, it probably would have been wiser to use a guinea pig rather than test out the product himself. The other boy, Charlie, probably could've been swayed pretty easily. Hell, he would probably do anything he said as long as he made it sound noble. What a wuss.

Still, no matter how much blame Mike forced on other people, he knew it had ultimately been his fault. He had tried so hard to remain stoic and unreadable the entire trip, but he had made one fatal mistake, the worst mistake he could have possibly made: he had shown his weak spot to the enemy. To Wonka. The twisted chocolaty knew he would not be able to resist testing out a teleporting device. Mike inwardly groaned and cursed his own stupidity. How could he have made such an obvious error? He felt like a moron. He should have just kept his mouth shut and plotted how to use it to his advantage later. Mike had seen what was happening to the other kids. It was no accident that they had all disappeared. He knew that Wonka had been after him, he knew - -

Mike's thought were interrupted by a sudden rush of searing pain that went down his spine. _Pain. Pain. Pain. Chocolate. Pain._ He wanted to scream, he wanted to howl in agony. Every muscle in his body was on fire. He was being sawed in half by Jigsaw, eaten alive by a zombie, Crusio'd by Lord Voldemort.

"Stop it!" he cried out, "Stop the machine! Stop! Stop! STOOOOP!"

The Oompa Loompas, however, seemed entirely oblivious to his cries of pain.

Mike met his father's eyes, wide in utter terror. Mike wanted to scream, but no words came out. Tears were streaming down his face. At this point he didn't even care, he just wanted it to end. Oh god, if they were trying to kill him, why didn't they get on with it already?

What was the purpose of all this, anyway? Did Wonka have a motive in mind? What was it? An experiment? An attempt to gain power? Or some sick sort of attempt to teach him a lesson. This could not possibly be legal, could it?

Mike heard the blood rushing through his ears, drowning out all other noise. His vision was beginning to blur, but he was able to make out the fuzzy shape of his father who appeared to be pleading with the Oompa Loompas to let him go, but to no avail.

And the pain . . . it was beyond merely unbearable. Beyond excruciating. No words could do the terrible sensation any justice. He could literally feel his consciousness slipping away. Once again, it hit him that this was no game. He could not press back and start from the beginning. He had lost, and for real this time.

Mike's last thoughts before passing out were, _GAME OVER._

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><p><strong>AN: I kind of have a soft spot for those kids, especially Mike. Hopefully he/they were in character. This is intended to be a one-shot, but if you guys really like it I may write more about him or some of the other kids' fates. Oh, and also this is not a slash fic, I can't write those to save my life.**

**Please review. I would love to know what people think of this.**

**~The QAS**

**Note (added March 26): If you notice in the reviews, there is one signed by my name. You can thank my friend Mooseman for that. Last time I lend him my iPhone!**


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